


Control and Fear

by CaptainAngsty



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bulimia, Eating Disorders, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 17:05:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10598379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainAngsty/pseuds/CaptainAngsty
Summary: Hanzo just wanted control of something but let the demon follow him his whole life.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written in one sitting, sorry for any errors.
> 
> EDIT: Beta'd by the wonderful Laeyein

It started when he was just a boy.

Hanzo knew his childhood was nowhere near comparable to the norm, as every minute of his day was scheduled and scrutinized by the controlling hands of the elders of the clan to make sure that he could be prepared for the eventual task of leading them to further glory. Early morning wake ups were followed by extensive stretching before he was immediately trained in every kind of martial art they could fit into his head. Then, he was able to join the rest of his family for breakfast; a small, bland affair that was purely designed to restore energy, not to be enjoyed. Advanced academic lessons and studying were par for the course for the remainder of the morning before he met up once again with his family for a similarly tasteless lunch, and then he was thrown right back into intense physical training, although in these he was often accompanied by his brother. A slightly more flavorful and varied range of foods for dinner gave Hanzo the chance to finally breathe, and though (or perhaps because) he was too exhausted for any more excitement, it was nice to relax for once.

Rinse and repeat. Over, and over, and over again.

This cycle continued day in and day out, monotony and the need for some change from it growing heavy in his mind.

Until one day.  
That day.

The day he would remember, celebrate, and curse for the rest of his life.  
The afternoon session on that day had been particularly grueling, though he had thought nothing of much of it until his stomach had started to complain. He ignored it. Even as it worsened, he ignored it, thinking that perhaps it was just a flux, maybe he wasn’t used to working himself this hard yet, and that pushing through it would make it go away. It didn’t, and mere minutes later he found himself sprinting outside to regurgitate a still vaguely recognisable energy-filled lunch behind some bushes. He returned to his training immediately, but a strange feeling had settled itself where his food had been. It was not until after excusing himself from a meager dinner that he was able to pinpoint the feeling.

It was relief.

His own body had rejected something the elders had long forced upon him. A strange, twisted break from a routine that had gone on for years, and though it worried him to think so, he could not deny that he was excited by it.

For the next three days, he pushed himself as hard as he could, hoping that the strain on his body would elicit the same reaction it had before. When that didn’t work, he tried eating more at lunch, feigning that his hunger was to feed his growing body, and not the chance that it would come back up. That, too, was unsuccessful, and only served to make the elders angry at his sluggish, unfocused behaviour.

It was nearly a week after that day when Hanzo found himself sneaking into the kitchen long after everyone else had fallen asleep, a desperate, half-mad plan guiding him to what he hoped would finally give him that release. He only ate a few mouthfuls, fearing the wrath of his elders but moreso that his theory would be incorrect again, before making his way to the toilet farthest from the bedrooms. Before he could lose what little courage he had, he knelt in front of the bowl and, using the knowledge his elders had taught him in case of an assassination attempt by poison, pushed two fingers into the back of his throat. It took a few tries, but on the third attempt his stomach finally caved and sent the hastily-chewed bread and fruit rushing out into the toilet, his fingers quickly returning to ensure that nothing remained. It was messy, and left him with a feeling of disgust and the need for a shower, tears streaming down his face and snot running from his nose. But when he ignored everything else, there it was- a strange, warming relief. As he made his way back to his room, he knew he would do anything to get it back.

In just a few weeks the disgust had completely, thankfully disappeared. What had started as a rare occurrence quickly became an almost daily event, and as with everything else Hanzo became very efficient at it. Large portions with larger glasses of water, a secret mental list of which foods were easiest to bring back up, and the tried and true knowledge of just how to wiggle and just where to press his fingers for the quickest extraction. He grew bolder, sometimes inviting Genji along with him for a midnight ramen meal, and though he would skip over the details of what he would do afterwards, he cherished their shared rebellion. If he found himself knelt over the toilet after lunch sometimes, it was okay, because he finally had control of something in his life.  
Unfortunately, it was the only thing.

—

Hanzo had known something was wrong the moment the elders called him into their counsel. ‘He is a dishonor,’ they said, ‘this cannot be allowed to continue.’ He endured the verbal lashing meant for his brother for what felt like hours until he felt like vomiting right then and there. ‘You will confront him,’ they declared, and what they said was law here. He confronted his brother. The queasy feeling never went away.

—

That night, and for many, many nights after, his tears were not just from vomiting, though he did not stop trying to until even his bile was long gone.

—

As an adult, Hanzo quickly discovered that public bathrooms were not the most ideal environment for his ritual, and avoided them as much as possible, if he could. They attracted unwanted attention to him, and as someone who was trying to hide from the all-seeing eyes of the clan, this was the opposite of what he needed. However, he also needed to purge, though the relief that had once driven him had shifted to fear and paranoia. While running from the clan, he couldn’t afford to be caught with a stomach full of food slowing him down, and so all but the barest minimum he needed to survive had to come out again. He wouldn’t let them take him back; he couldn’t bear to return to the collared monster he had been under their controlling hands.

Many of his nights were spent curled up on a cheap hotel mattress, sleep eluding him as his stomach cramped and the demons of his past crept just out of sight in the darkness of the room. It was a particularly bad night which encouraged him to return to Shimada Castle on what would have been his brother’s thirty-fifth birthday.

—

He wished he could say that his life turned around when he joined Overwatch. His brother was alive- though not without a constant, heart-rending reminder of the damage Hanzo had done. He could finally help people- but as helpful as the team was, they were still operating illegally, and had to stay away from the public eye. He was part of a great team, an enthusiastic group that was more like family to him than the clan ever was- but still, despite it all, the paranoia remained.  
No amount of warm smiles or pleasant though mostly one-sided conversations could shake the feeling that he was being deceived in some way. The only thing he could do assuage it when it got to its worst was to be ready, to be empty.

Time passed, and he began to realize that the feeling was no more than that- a feeling- but the realization could not stop him. His reason for purging had already shifted.

Disappointment from a poor training session.

Purge.

Stress from a tense mission briefing.

Purge.

Fear from having to put a comrade or- heaven forbid- his brother in danger.

Purge.

It became such a common occurrence that his throat burned more often than it didn’t, the croak and rasp of his voice thought natural by all but a few. A wave of unsteadiness washed through him every time he rose from the bathroom floor.

—

He had thought that he was hiding his tells well; he had years of practice, after all. It wasn’t until a sobering night in the Watchpoint’s kitchen that he was shown otherwise. He was eating as much as he could, as quickly as he could, and was focused so intently on his plate that he had not noticed that Mccree had come in until the metal chair across from him scraped on the floor.

Hanzo looked up quickly, trying to work out a reason for the other man’s arrival, but the face he saw was carefully guarded- unless one knew where to look, which he did. The small crease in his brows and the clenched jaw was worry and pain, and his lack of greeting or other warning told Hanzo mountains of information. Once the other man had sat down, the room was left in stifled silence, interrupted only once by the painfully loud last swallow of a now abandoned meal.  
Panic froze him to the spot as Jesse reached his biological hand towards him, resting it on Hanzo’s own right one, his thumb rubbing gently over the first two knuckles.

“My sis had the same marks on her hand,” he said, so gently, clearly afraid of scaring Hanzo off.

Internally, Hanzo began to panic.

Of course Jesse had noticed. He probably noticed a lot of things about him; Hanzo had known the gunslinger had feelings for him for months. It showed in the way he was more enthusiastic about missions they were put together on, in how he watched out for Hanzo more on those missions, and of course in the way Jesse frequently asked for his company both inside and out of the practice range. He just hadn’t anticipated the cowboy knowing what signs to looks for; who knows what he might have done to avoid the cowboy if he did. His stomach rolled at the thought of being caught, or worse, forced to stop the lifelong relief he needed to survive. Pulling his hand away, Hanzo stood and quietly excused himself, not even glancing back at the now obviously pained cowboy before breaking into a run towards the nearest toilet as soon as he was out of sight. He had barely lifted the lid before his dinner came back up of it’s own accord.

The disgust came back, too.

—

Not even twenty four hours later, he received a message from Angela requesting his presence in her office. As soon as he arrived, he saw the pity hidden unsuccessfully in her eyes, and anger began to boil in him. He gave a curt refusal to her offer of help, then twisted on his heel and stormed out before she could say anything else.

It didn’t take long for him to find the man his fury was directed towards; he was chatting with a few other members of the team in one of the many commons rooms. Hanzo walked up to him, raw anger and hurt clearly visible in his eyes, and said nothing before he swung.

In the blink of an eye both men were on the floor. The other occupants of the room were momentarily stunned as Hanzo grabbed the shirt of a bloodied Mccree and screamed through tears about how he had no right. Reinhardt was the first one to take action, pulling the still screaming Hanzo off of Jesse and holding him back as gently as he could manage. Hana and Lucio reacted next, rushing over to Jesse and helping him as best they could as Angela rushed into the room, hoping she wouldn’t be needed. Before anyone could say a word Hanzo slipped out of Reinhardt’s grip and rushed out of the room just as silently as he had come in.

—

Two hours later, Genji found Hanzo in his quarters, curled into a ball on his bed, clutching his stomach. As he got closer, he noticed tear tracks on his brother’s face, which only served to make him feel worse. What kind of brother was he, when he had ignored the signs of Hanzo’s suffering for years? After being told of what happened earlier, and getting a talk and some encouragement from Jesse, he couldn’t help but think back on their childhood and teenage years, some of his favorite memories with his brother now tarnished as he realized just why his brother always brought them to the kitchen. He remembered bowl after bowl stacked on the floor behind the counter, thinking that it was simply the result of an exhausted growing boy being groomed to lead. It pained him to think of where that food was actually ending up. 

Genji removed his mask and quietly placed it on the nightstand before sitting next to his brother. Still not knowing how quite to break the silence, he settled for reaching over for Hanzo’s hand, relieved beyond measure when the hold was returned in earnest. They sat like that for a few minutes, both stuck not wanting to say something that would scare the other off. Eventually, it was Hanzo that spoke first.

“Is Jesse okay?” a croaky whisper was all he could manage. Genji knew why, now.

“A black eye and a bloody nose. It’s nothing he can’t handle,” a pause followed as he tried to word his thoughts, “I’m sorry I never noticed.”

Hanzo flinched, fresh tears filling his eyes.

“You were never meant to. I just,” he regained some composure with a shaky inhale, “I just wanted some control in my life, the elders did everything for us and I just needed some change, I- I needed to be able to feel something, t-that they didn’t w-want me to feel.” Without hesitation, Genji pulled the now freely crying Hanzo into his arms, and felt tears of his own threaten to fall.

“I-I don’t k-know if I would have been able to- to survive, otherwise,” He said, voice muffled as he dug his head into Genji’s shoulder.

“It will be alright, brother,” Genji assured him, even as panic from his brother’s words flared within him.

“N-no it won’t,” Hanzo’s voice cracked, “It won’t stop, I c-can’t stop, it won’t go away.”

“It’s okay. We will help you. Just let us help and we will get you through this,” Genji hurried to reassure him, gripping his sobbing brother tightly even as his voice wavered.

The sound of the door opening caused Genji’s eyes to dart up, then relax as he saw Jesse leaning against the doorframe, bruised and not even bothering to hide his tears, but still there and willing to help in whatever way he could.

Hanzo knew that his brother was honest and determined, but he also knew that once that demon had sank it’s claws into that innocent child it would never let go.

**Author's Note:**

> Born purely form seeing the new sprays of Hanzo and Genji eating ramen. Or as I put on tumblr,
> 
> 'Everyone else seeing the new Hanzo spray: Aww how cute, he ate 4 bowls of ramen.
> 
> Me: Eating disorder au :D'
> 
> But for real bulimia sucks and I was just projecting my issues onto a fictional character please don't take offence from this.


End file.
